


good directions

by cherrytreebridge



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Getting Together, M/M, Small Town Christmas, alcohol use/implied underage alcohol use, city boy sakusa and country boy atsumu au, dont ask questions just enjoy, it started as crack i think it's only fair it stays that way, it's basically a hallmark movie au, takes place in like a Japan & American southwest fusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:27:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28466034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrytreebridge/pseuds/cherrytreebridge
Summary: This is how Sakusa Kiyoomi finds himself on the cracked and dirty asphalt road off the interstate that leads out of the city and back into his hometown.It’s his first time back in seven years, and his first time driving himself here, so he figures it might be best to ask if he’s going in the right direction when he sees the stand on the side of the road.This is how Sakusa Kiyoomi finds himself once again face to face with Miya Atsumu.or, Sakusa is a city boy comin' home for the holidays, and Atsumu has things he wishes he would’ve said before he left.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 12
Kudos: 124





	good directions

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!! if you thought i really couldn't made a more self indulgent au, you were WRONG! this started seeing a joke on the twitter tl about wanting one of those cheesy christmas movies for skts. and then this happened (as most of my fics do. they Start and Then they Happen.)
> 
> here's the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1ev0ZEVoiYNxG50af4pE6X?si=2QX4ThB6Spq_0ehaSE_Whg)!

It’s a black Mazda sports car that pulls up and idles on the old road, way fancier than anything anyone in this town would be haulin’ around. What some city kid is doin’ out here with their daddy’s car is beyond him, but he pushes himself off the tailgate so he can walk over and give this poor person some directions.

He tips his hat up right as they’re rollin’ the window down, and they both realize who the other is just a smidge too late. Atsumu’s lips turn up in a shit-eatin’ grin, and the not-so-stranger looks like he wishes he’s dead. 

“Omi-kun, fancy seein’ ya here. What brings ya back around, hm?”

“Miya,” Sakusa greets him, literally radiating disgust, “It seems that, ironically enough, I am not lost at all.” 

“That doesn’t answer why yer here, though.” 

He exhales, loud enough for him to think that he wanted Atsumu to hear it. “My mother invited me home for the holidays.” 

Atsumu gasps, dramatically, “ _‘Your mother’_ ?” he enunciates, “Damn, what’d the city do to ya? Haven’t seen ya in like seven years, much less you callin’ yer ma ‘ _your mother’._ ” 

“Hush, Miya.” He’s already rolling the window back up. 

“See ya around?”

He must not hear it, ‘cause he drives off without answering, fancy car kickin’ up dirt. 

*

“What?” asks Sakusa, blinking, and he’s sure he must not have heard right. 

But Ushijima stands in front of him, as staunchly as he ever has, a literal brick wall of a man looking Kiyoomi right in the eyes. “I’m sorry, Kiyoomi. I just think it might be best if we end things for now.” 

“I…” he trails off, mouth hanging open. It’s unflattering, but right now he’s at a loss for words. “Alright. uh. Ushijima. That’s fine.”

The other man shakes his head, near imperceptibly. “I’d like to remain friends, if that’s fine with you. I enjoy your company.” 

Kiyoomi just nods, worried that if he says anything else it’ll be something embarrassing that makes him feel worse than he already does. What the fuck does he do now? Neither of them were ever hugging people, and a handshake or whatever feels too formal. 

He’s saved by Ushijima dipping his head politely, giving him a farewell that he doesn’t quite process, and then Sakusa’s left alone on the street. 

He stands there for a moment, shell shocked, the cold of winter seeping in through his coat and his gloves. The humidity building up behind his mask is starting to get annoying, so he snaps out of it and starts walking, one foot after the other, hoping his feet remember how to take him back to his apartment without thinking about it too much. 

Kiyoomi’s phone rings twice in his pocket before he notices it, pulling it out hastily and swiping to answer before it stops ringing. His mother’s voice is warm as always and loud in his ear. 

“Hi, Mama,” he says, barely getting the words out before she’s already launching into her own greeting. 

_“Hi, dear!”_ comes the jovial reply. He can’t help but let his lips quirk up, just a little, at her energy. _“I just wanted to check up on you, you know, with the holidays around.”_

“Thank you.” 

_“How’s Wakatoshi-kun?”_

He sighs. She doesn’t know it, but she had a knack for cutting right to the chase. “Well, actually-”

_“What happened!?”_

“It’s fine, Mama, he just…” Another sigh. “Well, he broke things off. Just a little before you called, actually.”

_“Are you alright?”_

“Yeah,” he says. He’s not sure if it’s true, but it’s true enough. 

_“I’m sorry, dear. I know how much you liked him. You can always talk to me though, okay?”_

“I know.” 

Their conversation is fairly usual, after that. His mother asks about his work and he toes the line between coming clean about how much stress it causes him and brushing it off. He likes his job, and the last thing he needs her to do is worry about him. She asks about his apartment - it’s the same as ever, still just alright for a recent college grad - and his friends and if he’s excited for the holidays.

There’s a beat of awkward silence after. Kiyoomi knows what his mother wants to say next and he really hopes she doesn’t, because it’s always hard to tell her no. 

_“Why don’t you come home for Christmas?”_

He’s not sure where his hesitance stems from. He has a good relationship with his parents, a nostalgic love for his hometown. But the end of his first semester of college brought him home from a whirlwind four months of city life and growing into his own skin, and at the end of the day he only felt like the odd one out in his childhood home, despite the joys of familiarity. 

After that, things seemed to pop up that prevented him from coming home - completely legitimate reasons. Like the year he didn’t know his finals schedule until it was too late and too expensive to book tickets. The year he had a work deadline on Christmas Eve. Last year, when he spent the holidays with the Ushijima family.

Now, seven years after he first packed up and moved to the city, he had stopped planning a visit home for the holidays. Despite what he knew would be a resounding, genuine yes from his parents, he felt like he needed to ask for an invitation back. 

So he bites his lip and tells his mom the truth. 

“I’m worried it’ll be uncomfortable if I come home.” 

“ _Uncomfortable? Why-_ ”

“I’m twenty-five now, Mama. I’m a whole different person than I was when I lived there. Won’t it be strange? Haven’t you gotten used to having Christmas without me?”

His mother is silent for a long moment, and he’s suddenly stuck by a pang of fear. But then she says, “ _Oh, honey. I’ve learned how to do it, sure, but I’ll never get used to it. You’re always welcome back.”_

And maybe it’s the emotional aftershocks from the breakup he experienced not minutes before, or maybe it’s that sentence from his mother, because he sighs yet again, takes in the sights and sounds and smells of the city all around him, and decides that maybe some time in the countryside would do him good. 

This is how Sakusa Kiyoomi finds himself on the cracked and dirty asphalt road off the interstate that leads out of the city and back into his hometown. 

It’s his first time back in seven years, and his first time driving himself here, so he figures it might be best to ask if he’s going in the right direction when he sees the stand on the side of the road. 

This is how Sakusa Kiyoomi finds himself once again face to face with Miya Atsumu. 

“Omi-kun, fancy seein’ ya here. What brings ya back around, hm?”

“Miya,” Kiyoomi greets him, literally radiating disgust, “It seems that, ironically enough, I am not lost at all.” 

The land around them is literally empty save for vast stretches of dirt and shrubbery that extends to the horizon, an odd cactus here and there. Little mountains - barely big enough to qualify as much more than a hill, really - block out parts of the blue, blue sky in shadowy silhouettes. 

Atsumu is the only thing around, just a flatbed truck parked diagonally away from a table under a fraying canopy. It looks like the table is stocked with mason jars, complete with red-and-black checkerboard fabric and a twine bow adorning the lids. Against his better judgement, Kiyoomi takes a second too long to wonder if he remembers what Atsumu has been doing these past seven years. The second passes and he decides he doesn’t care. 

“That doesn’t answer why yer here, though.” 

He exhales, hoping it’s loud enough that Atsumu hears his frustration. “My mother invited me home for the holidays.” 

Atsumu gasps, dramatically, “ _‘Your mother’_ ?” he enunciates, “Damn, what’d the city do to ya? Haven’t seen ya in like seven years, much less you callin’ yer ma ‘ _your mother’._ ” 

“Hush, Miya,” he says, rolling the window back up before he can even finish the sentence. Atsumu might have said one more thing, but he doesn’t hear it because he’s pulling away, tires crunching dirt, trying to brush away the Miya Atsumu that clings to him despite how hard he ignores it.

Once he’s far enough into town, the scenery begins to look familiar. He can follow the way back to his house from memory, even after years gone, and it’s weird, so weird, to pull into the driveway. Like he’s still in high school coming back from volleyball practice, not twenty-five and about to knock on his own door like a stranger. 

His parents are, of course, elated to see him. It’s the kind of entrance you see in movies, where they both run to the door to greet him, the dog is jumping on them, he’s being smushed into hugs and cheek kisses and his nose is all scrunched up in disgust but deep down, he’s happy. 

The house looks the same, mostly, still classic wood furniture and white leather couches, wood floors and rustic rugs. There’s a family portrait still hanging above the fireplace, the same one from his high school graduation. His mom’s desk has moved out of the living room and near the window overlooking the backyard, presumably to watch the dog run laps around their stretch of land. 

Kiyoomi curses that his room is on the second floor as he lugs his suitcase up carpeted stairs. He’s not sure what he’ll feel when he walks through the threshold of his childhood bedroom, but it’s something he can’t really describe, familiarity laced with nostalgia and an overwhelming sense of being out of place. The room is clean, blinds open to let the natural light stream onto his bedspread. To her credit, while she managed to make the room look uncluttered, his mama hadn’t moved any of his things too far from where they originally were. He lets out a breath of relief. 

After however many hours of driving, a shower is next on his list. The bathroom is, surprisingly, nicer than his apartment’s, and he takes his time enjoying hot water that isn’t on his dime. A little indulgence never hurt anyone. 

By the time he’s done it’s already late and his mama is hollering up the stairs about dinner. He can smell it from here, something warm and homey and smothered in gravy, probably. Kiyoomi changes into sweatpants and hollers back that he’ll be down soon, rubbing some product into his hair and scrunching the curls with a towel so they’ll set. Right at eye level is a bookshelf with a picture of him sophomore year of high school, back when he let his wild curls do whatever they wanted and his mask did double duty of hiding his braces. Motoya’s on his right, smiling for the both of them, half an inch shorter at that point and an awkward stick of a boy. And on his left--

On his left is Miya Atsumu. Atsumu with his hip cocked out, a dumb little grin, brassy bleach-blonde hair sticking out at weird angles like hay because it’s so fucking damaged and he doesn’t know what conditioner is. His hand is perched on Kiyoomi’s shoulder. 

Ah yeah, that. Kiyoomi frowns, dropping his gaze and the towel to go catch dinner. 

*

Atsumu knows Osamu is not the least bit surprised when he comes huffin’ in and sits on one of the benches at the front of his little corner-store food joint - it’s like clockwork at this point, comin’ in to bother him, but Osamu gives him a stare anyway. Atsumu flops his head back on the window with all the drama in the world, the plexiglass making a _thump_ when his thick head makes contact. 

Osamu is washin’ dishes like he usually is at this time of night. Miya Onigiri closes at seven, but the town’s awful quiet by the time the sun sets in winter, so he gets the head start and goes home right when the sign gets flipped. Atsumu knows this, and bugs him anyway. 

“Can I’ve a hot dog one, ‘Samu?” he asks, tilting his head. 

“No,” says his brother in response, even as he turns off the tap and goes to wipe his hands on a towel. Atsumu watches him shape sushi rice onto a square of seaweed, stack that with a leaf of lettuce, slice of spam, egg, onions, and a half a sausage cut down the middle. A dollop of spiced ketchup and it gets folded over and slid into the paper. 

“Oh, ya don’t gotta wrap it up-” Atsumu starts, but it’s too late, and Osamu’s folding the paper more than he usually would, using too much tape to seal it up, and doing it all just to spite him. 

“Here y’are,” smirks Osamu, handing him the bundle over the counter.

Atsumu takes it from his hands with a scowl. “Gee, thanks.” His twin just shrugs. 

Atsumu takes a seat at the counter and tears open his onigiri, doing his best not to look absolutely disgusted with the sheer amount of scotch tape used to keep him away from his dinner. Osamu goes back to wiping down counters, posing a question right as Atsumu’s got a big bite of food situated squarely in his mouth. 

“How’d sellin’ preserves fer Kita-san go?” 

Atsumu chews slowly while glarin’. He gives up the game fairly quickly, though, realizin’ he’s not doin’ much in the way of provoking Osamu and instead making a mush of the food in his mouth. 

“Went alright,” he says, wipin’ hot dog grease off his mouth with the back of his hand. Osamu gives a pointed look at the napkin dispenser not an arm’s reach away. “Did a little business, which Kita-san honestly didn’t expect much - but you’ll never _fucking_ _guess_ who swung by-”

“Sakusa?” Osamu cuts him off, and Atsumu gawks at him. 

His brother shrugs. “Twin telepathy. You were thinkin’ about ‘im.” 

Atsumu continues to stare, and Osamu lets him dangle like that for another second before he breaks out into an honest-to-god chuckle. “Chrissake, yer so fuckin’ gullible. Nah, Suna said Komori was talkin’ bout how excited he is t’see him the other day.”

“Suna, huh?”

“Yeah well, he ‘n Komori are gettin’ to be friends now, ‘suppose. Workin’ together and all. But yeah, guessin’ by the look on yer face, I got it right?”

“Whatever.” Atsumu purposefully doesn’t look at him. 

“How’d it go? Ya tell him yer still in fuckin’ love with ‘im?”

He nearly chokes and spits rice grains all over the counter. “I’mma kill you. Am not.”

“Uh huh,” Osamu shoots back, unimpressed, spraying windex perilously close to Atsumu’s half-eaten onigiri and wiping rice off the counters. “I’m not the one who holed up in bed when he left, listenin’ to all the sad songs Darius Rucker and Zac Brown Band ever recorded.”

“Yer makin’ that up.”

“You tried learnin’ the chords t’ _Keep Me In Mind_.”

Atsumu waves a hand around as he says with a mouthful of food, “And? That was like… seven years ago. I’m over it.” 

His brother shrugs. “Okay, if ya say so.” 

Moon’s up when Atsumu pulls into the drive, headlights lighting up what the floodlights don't. The horses are asleep by this hour, or at least ought to be soon, so he turns off the lights and cuts the engine without idlin’ too much. Inside the house is quiet. He left early enough that there’s no lamps on save for the nightlight plugged into the kitchen island. A look around and he doesn’t see any sleeping piles of fur, so he opens the back door, sticks a pinkie and a thumb in his mouth and whistles, one high tone and one low tone. He does it again when he doesn’t hear the immediate pit-pat of paws thumpin’ the ground, and sure enough on the second call a forty-two-pound Australian Shepherd comes barrelin’ through the door. She’s doin’ her damndest to wag the tail she doesn’t have, and instead her whole butt’s wigglin’ with the force of her excitement. 

“Hi, Chey-Chey,” he says, attempting to pet the wiggly snake of a dog that’s weaving between his legs, “Hope you didn’t terrorize yer horsies too much today. Ready to go sleep?”

He wakes up the next morning before his alarm and before the sun. Cheyenne is sprawled out and taking up as much of the bed as her little dog-body can, relegating Atsumu for the far side of the bed and with less than half the covers. Little shit. 

Atsumu pokes her twice and she’s out like a light, so he figures it wouldn’t hurt to let her sleep in. He, on the other hand, throws himself out of bed and grabs the first jeans and sweatshirt within reach. His boots are downstairs, and then it’s a short walk across the way to the ranch proper. 

Sonora Ranch really ain’t anything too special - ten or twelve fenced in, covered pens for the horses, a barn for tack, and a sand arena. On the far side, away from the house, there’s a furnished concrete patio with a wet bar and a firepit. It was a cozy little place, made home by the people and the horses that stayed there. 

In all honesty, he didn’t have to do much by way of working with the horses - there was a ranchhand to change feed and hay, and most the horses were boarders whose owners looked after them. A few were retired race and dressage horses, and even they had a few regular volunteers who liked to come in and love on them. Even so, Atsumu liked to be up early enough to say good mornin’ to each of them, pat their noses and hand out peppermints. 

The sandy-colored Tennessee Walker in the pen closest to the house is the last one he visits, and she gets the last six peppermints in his pocket. She was a dressage horse brought to Sonora Ranch when her owner became too old to care for her, and she’d taken a liking to Atsumu. He called her “Bella” and it stuck. At this point, he couldn’t remember what she’d been named before. Lulu? Tallulah? Didn’t much matter. 

A mid-yawn whine makes both he and Bella turn their heads to see Cheyenne padding through the dirt, looking for Atsumu. 

“Finally decide to wake up, eh?” he asks her, and only gets a funny little dog noise in response. 

By this time it’s seven or so, about when he takes Cheyenne for a walk before breakfast. She knows this as well as he does, following him back to the house and sitting dutifully so her collar gets clipped to the lead. She completes the mornin’ ritual by shaking vigorously and sending gray-black-white-copper dog hair in all directions. He sighs. He had to mop anyway.

At this time of day, he thinks probably Kita-san is the only other one awake. Not even ‘Samu gets up before eight am, and nothin’ else’ll be open for another hour or two. Usually his walks with Cheyenne are plenty quiet and calm, makin’ the rounds through big desert shrubbery and cacti and windy dirt roads carved bumping by monsoon. 

The last thing he expects is for Cheyenne to start pullin’ him across the street, where a big ‘ol Rottweiler and a familiar mop of black curly hair are havin’ a jog. 

The Rottweiler catches him out of the corner of his eye and stops dead, nearly tripping Sakusa over his leash. Both dogs are grinnin’ all dopey-like, and Atsumu smirks and waves a now-balanced Sakusa over. 

“Hey! Chey here’s friendly enough. Who’s this?” 

The Rottweiler exchanges a couple of sniffs with Cheyenne before buttin’ his head into Atsumu’s leg, looking for a pat on the head. Atsumu is more than happy to oblige, his thumb tracing over the ridge of the great beast’s nose as he looks up at Sakusa. 

“Captain is a huge teddy bear,” Sakusa says, his mask hiding what looks to be the barest of smiles in his voice. 

“Captain ‘a what?” Atsumu asks, half joking. Sakusa turns red. 

“Technically… his full name is Captain Jean Luc Picard.”

“No shit, from Star Trek?”

“Yeah.”

Astumu barks out a laugh. “That’s cute, Omi-Omi,” Sakusa does his best to look at anything other than Atsumu, “And I already knew ya were a nerd. Don’t gotta hide.” 

Sakusa opens his mouth. “Anyway-”

“Anyway,” Atsumu cuts him off, not lettin’ him finish, “What’re you doin’ out here?”

“Jogging.” 

He rolls his eyes so hard that his whole head follows along. “Yeah, got that. I’m tryna make conversation here, Omi.”

“Then do that. Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“What are you doin’ Christmas?” he sighs.

“Christmas things? I just said-”

Atsumu is this close to calling it quits and walking home. Why’s this gotta be so goddamn hard. “No, I mean like, I’m havin’ a Christmas party night of and I’m tryin’ to invite you.” 

“Oh.”

“So what’re you doin’ Christmas night?” he says deliberately, continuing his previous thought. The dogs are chasing each other in circles and rolling around in the dirt at his feet and it’s distracting. “Because if you want, you can roll through to my place around nine, and we’re havin’ a get together. Just wear a sweater and bring something to drink, and we’re doing a white elephant exchange.” 

Sakusa nods at him slowly. “Alright, well, I’ll think about it.” 

“Yeah, do that.” He whistles for Cheyenne, gives Captain another pat on the head and turns on a heel to go home. “See ya, maybe.” 

Talking to Sakusa used to be easy. Fun, even. Guess time’ll do that to two people. 

*

It takes Kiyoomi the remaining two days before Christmas to attempt to summon up one good reason to go to Atsumu’s party, and he is ultimately unsuccessful. There are plenty of bad ones. He ignores all of those and realizes that it’s impossible to talk himself out of this bad idea, so he kisses his mom on the cheek before he leaves at eight-thirty to grab a bottle of wine on his way over. 

There’s a few cars parked up and down the otherwise empty street that Atsumu’s house sits on. It’s small and modest, by any standards, but still nice, a single story with a circular driveway, xeriscaped entry and lights hanging from the roof. The keys for the Mazda get tucked into his coat pocket and the bottle of wine under his arm. 

As soon as he crosses the threshold he realizes instantly the error of his ways. The first thing he sees is Suna Rintarou, wearing sunglasses indoors, in an absurdly oversized sweater with not one, but two fuzzy flamingos in sunglasses. The sleeves are entirely sequins. Osamu’s on his right, his own sweater seemingly a plain black one with striped sleeves, until he notices it has a light up Christmas tree and the slogan “get lit” printed across the top. Motoya appears at that moment, and whatever he said is overshadowed by the _suit_ he’s wearing, one that’s blue and printed with white snowflakes and reindeer. He’s not even wearing a shirt under it, just has the jacket buttoned up. 

“Hello!! Kiyoomi!” Motoya finally gets through to him, and he’s fully realizing the extent of his fuckup might be the sign of a terrible night, and he considers turning around and walking back out the door. But Motoya grabs his arm, saying something about meeting Atsumu (oh, God), and that he’s glad to see him outside of the house. 

As terrible as Motoya’s entire getup is, at least it’s fashionable. Atsumu’s sweater is tastefully black with a minimalistic snowflake pattern. The atrocity of its design is confined to the torso, where Rudolph and Santa are dabbing under a sequined disco ball. 

Atsumu, on the other hand, takes one look at Sakusa’s incredibly reasonable maroon sweater over a red-and-white flannel and a gold scarf, and starts laughing. 

“Oh, Omi. Oh. Should I’ve been more specific in my invite?” 

He frowns. “Even if you had been, I don’t _own_ an ugly sweater.”

Atsumu just waves that off. “Do ya want something to drink? We got-”

It’s at this moment he notices the moderately nice bottle of wine Kiyoomi’s holding, and just smiles sweetly as he holds out his hands to take it. “Thank you, Omi-kun. I’ll have to save this for a special occasion.” 

On the kitchen table is the orangest fucking drink Kiyoomi has ever seen in his life in the largest plastic container he thinks that table can support. It looks like there’s at least six sliced oranges in there, along with a multitude of strawberries and a handful of lime wedges. On the table are empty bottles of orange juice, pineapple juice, strawberry margarita mix, rum, tequila, vodka, triple sec…

Now he understands what Atsumu meant by _“bring a drink.”_

“How are you not dead,” he asks, deadpan, watching Atsumu ladle him some of the cursed jungle juice into a red solo cup. 

“It’s good, Omi-Omi, just try some,” he insists, and against his better judgement, he takes a sip. 

To Atsumu’s credit, the juice is good. A little too good, and Kiyoomi doesn’t realize he's drunk until it’s too late. 

At some point the classic country radio playing from someone’s phone turns into _Red Solo Cup_ and Atsumu somehow knows all the words, and Suna and Osamu back him up in the most comedic way possible. After that comes a stream of old country songs to which Kiyoomi has the lyrics hidden somewhere in his brain, and then they switch genres completely to Flo Rida and Nicki Minaj (Atsumu knows the words to all those, too). They play King’s Cup and Motoya ends up on the floor, Osamu cradling a bottle of Fireball in the corner, and Kiyoomi laughing more than he ever thinks he has. 

The white elephant goes spectacularly poorly. Kiyoomi brought a tupperware of his mother’s fudge, which goes to Suna and gets promptly destroyed by the five of them. His gift is the only normal one. Osamu wraps up a Precious Moments mug that looks to be from 1997 (Kiyoomi gets it). Suna brings a reindeer antler, only a single one, that _has_ to be fake but still makes Cheyenne go absolutely wild (Atsumu gets it). Motoya wrapped up a collection of his battered Pokemon memorabilia, including three book adaptations of episodes from the second season and a sleeping bag made for a toddler (Osamu gets it). Atsumu wrapped a fucking car tire. Motoya gets it, and laughs for an hour, and it’s his designated seat for the rest of the night. 

Kiyoomi wakes up in a bed, and thinks, _Oh, fuck._

But he’s still wearing his jeans and his flannel - his scarf and sweater are nowhere to be seen, though. He has on a single sock. The other side of the bed is empty, and still made, in fact. 

On the bedside table are his phone, plugged in, and a glass of water. He goes to sit up and check the time and falls back over, because his head is _pounding._

It takes two more tries but he finally sits up and opens his phone. It’s 11 am. 

Kiyoomi downs the water and steels himself to get up. Once he’s upright it’s not awful, just a little nauseous and unsteady, but he can hold himself together well enough. He pads a couple steps out of the bedroom and into the hallways - as far as he can tell, he’s still in Atsumu’s house. That’s good at least, no one let him drive anywhere, but he’s absolutely mortified. 

When he comes up to the kitchen he sees Atsumu, alone, in an old high-school t-shirt and sweatpants, cleaning up from the night before. 

“Where is everyone else? They didn’t drive, did they?” 

“Hmm?” Atsumu turns around, clorox wipe dangling from his hand. “Oh no, not until this morning. Everyone slept over, but you were out first. And the most fucked up, I think.”

“Ah,” Kiyoomi says stupidly. His head is still pounding. “Well, I should-”

He cuts himself off as he sinks to the floor, a wave of nausea washing over him, and holds his head in his hands. 

Atsumu ditches the clorox wipe and kneels beside him. “Y’okay? Here, lemme getcha some water, and you should go back to sleep-”

“Miya, you really don’t have to-”

“You are _not_ driving anywhere,” Atsumu says with finality, and Kiyoomi closes his mouth. “I really don’t care, I put you up in the guest bedroom. Go back to sleep, and when you’re feeling better I’ll make sure you get home. You should text yer mama, though. She called last night.”

Kiyoomi scrabbles for the phone in his back pocket. “Oh, fuck, did she?”

“Don’t worry, I answered it and told her you were good,” Atsumu chuckles. “Absolutely fucking smashed, but alright.” 

“Thank you.” 

“A’course. Now, go back t’ sleep. Wanna borrow a pair of sweats? I think I’ve a pair of ‘Samu’s old ones that’re clean.” 

Kiyoomi swallows his pride. “Yeah, if you don’t mind.” 

“‘Course I don’t,” he reiterates, setting a bottle of water on the side table, rummaging around for the promised pair of sweats. “Here. Night, Omi-kun.” 

“Thanks,” Kiyoomi manages again, as Atsumu closes the door behind him and hits the light. 

*

They’d been in high school, senior year. They knew each other their first year but met properly their second, and from the get-go they hated each other.

Well, that’s not right. They bickered. They pushed and shoved. They called each other names. But it was never with malice, always accompanied by a self-satisfied smirk. They were integrated into each others’ groups - Kiyoomi with Atsumu, Osamu, and Suna, and then Atsumu with Motoya, and then soon it was the five of them, everywhere, all the time. 

Neither of them were sure what changed, and when. But then it was the two of them - in the gym, on the court, in the hallways at school; at Lucy Park, shootin’ the shit; late night in the bed of Atsumu’s pickup and watching the stars; walking around the holiday craft fair with each others’ scarves on and their hands nearly, almost, touching. 

And then, seven springs ago, when Kiyoomi accepted his offer and started making plans to move to the city. Seven summers ago, when Atsumu snuck ‘em a few beers from his mom’s fridge and they drank by the river. Seven falls ago, when Kiyoomi started adjusting to the city and meeting new people and Atsumu started helping his mom out at the ranch. Seven winters ago, when Kiyoomi came home and then didn’t again.

Neither of them really realized that they hadn’t told the other what they really wanted to say. Maybe it wasn’t as obvious as they thought.

*

The next time Sakusa makes his way into the kitchen it’s a little past three. 

“Feelin’ better?” atsumu asks, noticing Sakusa can stand up straight now and open his eyes against the light. 

“Yes, much,” he replies. “...Thanks again.” 

“Stop thankin’ me, I only did what a good host would do. What a friend would do,” he adds to the end, a little quieter, and then immediately looks to Sakusa to see his reaction. 

If Sakusa is opposed to calling their relationship a friendship, he doesn’t say anything. “Still. I could’ve had Motoya pick me up.” 

Atsumu just shrugs. Maybe it’s the last of the alcohol, but Sakusa’s acting almost _agreeable._ He truly didn’t have any ulterior motives in having him sleep off his hangover, except to ease his worryin’ about him, but now that he’s here, he realizes he doesn’t want him to leave. 

“I didn’t know you took over the ranch,” Sakusa says, gazing out the window where there’s a view of the barn. 

“Yeah. Took over for Ma, she retired to a smaller house down the street.” 

“How many horses do you have, out here?” 

Atsumu beams at him. “Wanna meet ‘em?” 

He can tell that Sakusa is opposed to the general dustiness of the ranch and everything in it, not to mention very much against the idea of a horse licking him. He keeps his hands in his pockets as Atsumu walks him through and introduces each horse by name, but his body language gives him away as listening - and he greets every horse with a nod of his head. Cheyenne follows them around, weaving between Sakusa and Atsumu. 

“So this here’s Daniel -” Atsumu starts, pointing to a Belgian draft horse that dwarfs even Sakusa, “we call ‘im Danny Boy - he used to be a carriage horse, he’s retired now. His owner’s real sweet. And over here’s Django, a little Appaloosa… on the other side we’ve got Max and Mila. Mila’s a rescue, actually, she was an orphaned wild horse and she got brought over here. Still a baby. That’s Toad-”

“Toad?” Sakusa snorts. 

Atsumu shrugs. “Dunno why he’s named that. He is kind of a little toad, though.” He hands him a peppermint, and Toad nips the skin of his palm. Atsumu yelps and shakes out his hand. “See? Little toad.” Sakusa is laughing so hard he’s doubled over. 

When they make it to the end of the line of stalls, Sakusa’s eyebrows raise at the last horse they’ve yet to see. Atsumu beams. “Ah, this is my girl. Bella.” 

After Bella bends her head down to touch noses with a very curious Cheyenne, she stands back up straight and hangs her head over the gate, snorting at Atsumu. He pets along her nose and her side jaw, slowly, reverently. 

Sakusa’s hands move in his pocket, his eyes darting between the horse and Atsumu’s hand. 

“You can pet her,” Atsumu encourages him, taking a step backward. “Just be gentle.”

Sakusa takes a slow step forward, and Bella’s head swings around to see who this new person is. He reaches his hand out, slowly, until it lands gently on her snout and she breathes out, content. 

“Think she likes you,” Astumu says, and Sakusa smiles a little. 

“Yeah, looks like it.” 

He’s got his eyes on Bella, but Atsumu’s watching him. 

*

When Kiyoomi pulls into his driveway a little after the sun’s started setting, he’s already got a text message waiting for him. He didn’t know Atsumu still had his number saved from high school. 

_Hey, Omi-kun. We should hang out again._

If Kiyoomi wasn’t so put together, he’d call the emotion he was feeling _giddiness._ He turns off the car and sits in his parents’ driveway for a beat, rereading the message and trying to formulate the most nonchalant response. 

_I’d like that,_ he ends up typing. _Did you have something in mind?_

The little bubbles that show Atsumu is typing pop up quickly, and he writes back, _Will you be around later this week? Maybe we could do Lucy Park._

Kiyoomi pushes away the word _date_ that appears in his mind and types back, _Sure. I can pick you up?_

_Well I won’t turn down the opportunity to ride in that fancy little car of yours, Omi-Omi._

Kiyoomi bites back the instinct to retort that anything would be nice compared to Atsumu’s rusty old pickup, and instead pulls his keys out of the ignition and heads inside with a smile. 

It’s two days later when they finally get around to meeting up. Kiyoomi rolls back around the ranch at sunset-thirty and Atsumu steps out bundled up in a puffy coat and a scarf. Even if they’re in the high desert and they’ve only got a sprinkling of snow, it’ll be cold at night. Kiyoomi himself has his favorite blue peacoat and a wool scarf that’s long enough to wrap all the way around his nose. 

Atsumu slides into the passenger side before Kiyoomi gets the chance to open the door. “Hey,” he says, throwing Kiyoomi a smile as he slides the seatbelt over the bulk of his jacket. Kiyoomi’s lips quirk up in a smirk. 

The drive to Lucy Park is not a long one, but it’s nice, the car warm against the chill and everyone’s Christmas lights throwing multicolored patterns over the dash. They don’t talk, nothing much to say, and Kiyoomi thinks that the comfortable silence reminds him a lot of when they were kids. 

Once Kiyoomi pulls into the lot at the edge of the park, Atsumu sits back and sighs. 

“I actually wanted to talk to you.” 

Kiyoomi blinks, pressing his lips together in a line as he throws his arm forward on the gear shift to put the car in park. “C’mon,” he says simply, and Atsumu follows. 

Lucy Park is a sprawling hundred and seventy acres bordered by the river bend, filled with hiking trails and other things-to-do that make it a popular spot for anyone, local or just rolling through. The river splits off at one point into two forks, one of them being Lucy Falls, three tiers of water falling down the rocks and under the wooden footbridge below. Atsumu and Kiyoomi walk there without thinking about it, maybe just because it’s a place to talk if there ever was one, or maybe because they’d spent so much time there together before. 

They’re alone on the center of the footbridge, just the sound of the running water. Atsumu crosses his arms on the railing and looks down at the river below him. 

“What have you been up to, Omi?”

Kiyoomi pauses, looking at Atsumu. “That’s what you wanted to talk about?”

“Well, I mean -” Atsumu sighs, shakes his head like he’s trying to get his thoughts in order. “I haven’t seen you in so long. I have _no clue_ what you’ve been doing, why you’ve never come back. We stopped talking. I just thought we were friends, right? And the last thing you said to me was-”

He cuts off. Kiyoomi doesn’t need him to continue, he knows what it was. They were in this park, seven Julys ago, sipping on beers they weren’t supposed to be drinking, and Kiyoomi had taken a swig and looked at the river sadly and said that nothing lasts forever. 

Now, looking back, he realizes Atsumu took it as a rejection. 

“I graduated three years ago,” he starts, leaning on the railing next to Atsumu. “Got hired at the place I did my journalism internship, been there ever since. That’s about it. Haven’t been home because work kept me too busy, or I felt like I just…” he bites his lip. “Shouldn’t.”

Atsumu nods, taking this in. “I don’t get it, but then again, I guess I wouldn’t. I’ve been here all my life. And if you’re happier in the city-”

“I don’t know if I am,” Kiyoomi admits. 

There’s a beat of silence. 

“Then where are you happy?”

It’s a leading question, they both know it. Kiyoomi indulges him anyway. 

“I’ve had a pretty good time here, Atsumu.” He pauses, wonders if he wants to say the thing sitting on the tip of his tongue. He says it anyway. “I missed y’all.” 

Atsumu smiles, finally turns his head to look at him. “I missed you, Kiyoomi.”

Their fingers find each other on the railing, just barely touching. 

Kiyoomi drops him off a few hours later, idling on the driveway for a long moment. Neither of them look at each other. 

Atsumu stutters out a quiet thanks and opens the door, the cold whooshing in to fill the space he leaves behind. Kiyoomi waits and watches him walk to his porch, making sure he gets in the door, but instead Atsumu pauses and looks over his shoulder. 

Kiyoomi already has the door open and one foot out, and it takes him about six long strides to catch up to the boy on the porch. Both his hands go up to cup his cheeks, rosy and cold even through the fabric of his gloves, and they’re so close Kiyoomi can see the wisps of his breath as his lips part in a small smile. 

Atsumu’s the one who leans up and closes the gap, pressing his lips to Kiyoomi’s, his hands curling around his waist and holding them close together. Kiyoomi tilts his head and presses back, just barely, his thumbs sliding over the bottom of his jaw as he kisses Atsumu, realizing he’s wanted to do this for seven years. 

They finally part, foreheads pressed together and eyes closed, swaying a little in each other’s grip. Atsumu laughs, his breath warm against Kiyoomi’s face. 

“I missed you too, Atsumu,” he says. 

*

Kiyoomi is, of course, invited to their New Years’ Eve. The five of them - Atsumu, Osamu, Suna, Motoya, and Kiyoomi - gather around the firepit set up in the cul-de-sac in front of Osamu and Suna’s house, bundled up against the chill and made warm by the contents of the bottles in their hands. They’d’ve gathered around the firepit at the ranch, but the fireworks Motoya bought would’ve scared the horses half to hell, if they didn’t set a brushfire in the desert. 

Atsumu and Kiyoomi’s pinkies are tangled as Osamu tells stories of working in the restaurant biz - even in a small town, he’s had his fair share of ugly customers, and the way he tells of their stupidity has all of them in stitches. 

Motoya is, of course, the first to set off a firework. He picks one of the bigger ones (they’re saving the biggest for midnight) and it takes him three tries to strike the match with his frozen hands, but once he does the firework sets off in a spray of red and gold sparks. They all whoop and cheer. 

Atsumu lights two sparklers and hands one to Kiyoomi, laughing as they draw shapes in the darkness. His burns out first, and he tries to steal Kiyoomi’s, who protests and holds it out of arm’s reach. Atsumu retaliates by pulling him down by his jacket and kissing him, and Kiyoomi’s so surprised he drops the sparkler onto the asphalt. His lips taste like beer and honey tequila shots, but Kiyoomi doesn’t mind. He kisses him again and again, sparklers long forgotten.

Three things happen at midnight. One, Motoya lights the largest firework and hollers as it goes off, sending a shower of sparks three feet in the air. Two, Kiyoomi’s phone dings once in his pocket and he ignores it. Three, Sakusa Kiyoomi dips Miya Atsumu right in front of the firepit, and gives him a New Year’s kiss. 

Once the fireworks have died down and the new year has properly begun, Kiyoomi pulls his phone out of his pocket, and sees the ding was a reminder that he’s supposed to be back at work day after next.

*

It’s a black Mazda sports car that pulls up and idles on the old road, way fancier than anything anyone in this town would be haulin’ around. Atsumu was back on the side of the road, just outside Kita’s land, old truck parked diagonal across from the table he’s got set up with jams and honey.

He pushes himself off the tailgate, tippin’ his hat up right as Sakusa’s rollin’ the window down.

“So yer really leavin’ huh?” he asks. It’s not malicious, just empty.

Sakusa doesn’t look at him. “I’ve gotta. I’m sorry.” 

Atsumu doesn’t fight him on that. Surely, he doesn’t _have_ to - if there’s one thing he picked up during their conversation at Lucy Falls, it was that the city was starting to lose its luster. 

“How do I get back to the interstate from here, Atsumu?” Sakusa asks. He doesn’t sound happy about the drive ahead of him, or maybe something else, but he doesn’t try to read into it too much. 

“You gotta go way up there,” he points in front of them, “Past the stoplight. You’ll see Aran’s country store, probably, right on the edge of Kita-san’s farm.” He pauses, wetting his lips. “You oughta stop in and say hi. Ask Kita-san for some of his sweet tea. From there, a left will take you to the interstate, and a right-”

“A right?”

Atsumu waves him off. “Nevermind. Jus’ be careful gettin’ home. I’ll see ya around, right?”

“Yeah,” Sakusa agrees easily, rollin’ the window back up. Atsumu watches him drive down the road, until he’s just a speck against the desert sky. 

He doesn’t know how much longer it is before he hears the rumble of a car comin’ down the road. He looks up, and sure enough, it’s the Mazda, comin’ back the way it went. 

“No shit,” says Atsumu, to no one in particular, as Sakusa Kiyoomi pulls up, cuts the engine, and steps out of the car. 

“What the hell did Kita-san tell ya?” Atsumu asks, and he can barely keep the smirk off his face. 

Sakusa shrugs. “We jus’ talked. I did what you said - stopped by, and he made me some sweet tea. Gave some good directions, too. Said a left will take me to the interstate, but a right-”

Atsumu breaks out into a smile, curls his arms around Kiyoomi, who puts his hands on his shoulders. Their noses are nearly touching. “But a right will bring you right back here to me.”

Sakusa laughs, leaning in. “Yeah. Thank God for good directions.” 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/petalbridges)
> 
> shoutouts to the namesakes of all the animals; to me wearing a normal sweater to an ugly sweater party; to nye cul-de-sac parties; to getting fucked up on jungle juice; to "good directions" by billy currington; to all of my twitter friends who stan skts; and to the end of this year.
> 
> happy 2021!


End file.
